Crow’s Row (45 page)

Whoever said that love hurts was wrong. Love is excruciating, especially when you can feel it slipping through your fingers and there is nothing you can do about it. Like someone was playing tug-of-war with my limbs, ripping to shreds whatever was left behind. What it would feel like when love was lost … I wouldn’t survive that. I closed my eyes, willing the tears to stay hidden behind my eyelids and focusing on breathing in and out instead of the pain that was ramming in my heart.

Cameron finished the dishes and turned the tiny kitchen light off. With the only light coming from the shimmering flames that shone through the square of the stove window, my tears were safely out of sight.

“We should get some sleep. It’s been a long day,” he said with a fake yawn and a bogus stretch of the arms.

I noiselessly followed. It didn’t matter that the tears blurred my vision. I wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway. But Cameron caught my arm as we climbed up the stairs.

“Are you crying?” he asked with utter surprise. “Emmy, what’s wrong?”

“You’re going to leave me no matter what I do, won’t you?” I sobbed. “I won’t go back without you, Cameron. I can’t. You’re all I have.”

Cameron laughed softly. “Is that what you’re crying about? That whole thing about you going back home?”

He wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides, whispering through my sobs. “Em, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll make it work, I promise. Whatever it takes. Please don’t cry.”

I stood in his arms until the sobs finally subsided into sniffles. He let me go and gently lifted my shaking chin. He kept my eyes for a bit while sadness swelled his darkened features. “I never knew you were this broken.”

“Only when you’re not there.” I sniffed and let him wipe the remaining tears.

“You’ll probably die if you stay with me,” he told me.

“Then I’m dead either way, because I won’t survive without you.” There was nothing that he could say that would convince me that being without him was the better option.

He sighed and shook his head. “Whatever I do just makes everything harder. Worse for you.”

It was in the flickering light of the fire that I noticed that familiar sparkle in his eyes and suddenly I understood. The rush to get everything done, the fake yawn, the attempt at getting me into bed, early … Cameron was right. I was broken. Probably beyond repair. But, in that moment, and all those other moments, when it was just us, and especially when he looked at me like that, smoldering, as if I were all he needed, I didn’t feel broken. Like a shattered coffee mug that had been superglued back together—with him, I could barely feel the cracks. I felt whole.

I latched onto him. He kissed me and carried me to bed. The other stuff—life—was left behind for another night.

 Chapter Twenty-Six:
 Deadly Risky Business

Cameron was sitting on the edge of the bed. The day had come, the one that we had both been dreading. Today was Rocco’s funeral. Cameron had tried to avoid it as long as possible, waiting until they found the rat—or at least until things got a little better. But it couldn’t be pushed off any longer. Rocco needed to be put to rest, and we needed to move forward. The way that Cameron was hunched over, his shoulders carrying the guilt of his little brother’s death, this day was going to be difficult, agonizing for him.

In a movement that had become ours, I scrambled behind him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. There we sat, mentally preparing for what lay ahead, becoming one skin once again.

Dressed in black, we ascended the car. Cameron had shaved off the growing beard. I had missed his face, but now I also missed the stubble. He was wearing a black suit and a tie, more handsome than ever. I managed to find a wrinkled skirt that I had never worn and black flip-flops to match. My duffle bag options were limited.

As we drove away, Cameron’s hand was squeezing mine so tight that my fingertips were going numb.

“Tell me what you and the old man talked about back at the distribution plant,” he asked. His voice was unsteady and his eyes never left the road in front of him.

I was content to provide his distraction. “His name is Jerry, but he likes to be called Pops,” I started. While I gabbed, Cameron listened—or looked like he was listening. Perhaps he just needed the noise. Although his hand never left mine, his grip slightly loosened after a while—and I was able to feel my fingertips again. I told him everything, even shared Pops’s perception of Cameron—but I did leave out his view on Cameron’s previous appearance of inhumanity. This, I knew, would hurt him too much. Cameron found my reiteration of our debate over the pros and cons of drugs to be particularly interesting.

“Does it bother you what I do?” he wondered.

I couldn’t lie to him, but I definitely did not want to tell him the truth. “It’s not … ideal,” I said, treading very carefully.

“It’s okay for you to be bothered by what I do,” he said quickly. “In fact, you should be bothered. It would be abnormal for you to think it was okay.”

Cameron paused in hopes of an answer, but I just shrugged my shoulders and remained silent. I wasn’t about to fall for that one: the “it’s okay for you to tell me the truth as long as it’s what I want to hear” trap.

“The old man whispered something to you as we left,” he continued with curiosity. “What did he say?”

“Pops,” I corrected, “said that he hoped to see me again.”

“Absolutely not!”

“I know,” I sulked, “But you asked, so I told you.”

Cameron glanced at me and quietly chuckled at my lapse in maturity. After getting a small taste of Cameron’s work, I was still convinced that I would be able to do some of what Cameron did. But I could not fathom what it would be like to make those other decisions. My mind turned to Griff.

“How did Griff end up working for Pops?” I kept my eyes on the road, tried to keep my voice as unconcerned as possible.

“I needed to get rid of him, and they needed a guard. They owed me a favor anyway,” he explained. Then he eyed me. “You thought I had him taken care of, didn’t you? Even after I told you I didn’t.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” I admitted. I looked at him, trying to decipher his mood. He didn’t look upset.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he reminded me.

“But you were also really upset the night he was caught climbing down from my room. Maybe even a bit jealous?” I raised an eyebrow, testing.

“Maybe a lot jealous.” He chuckled embarrassedly. “But I knew it would have hurt you too much if I had done anything to him.”

“Would you have had him killed if it wasn’t for me?”

Cameron glanced at me meaningfully in response. A chill went up my spine. I didn’t want to think about the alternate ending and needed to change the atmosphere.

“You’re rich, right?” I indiscreetly blurted out, trying to shock Cameron on purpose. From the look of astonishment on his face, it had worked. I continued, “Where does all the money go?”

“Lots of places,” he answered vaguely.

“Like?”

Cameron looked uncomfortable with my forthrightness, but, with an elongated sigh, went along with it. “Like stocks, bonds, property. I have a bunch of bank accounts in different places around the world.”

“So … you don’t just bury the money under the mattress like they do in movies?”

He laughed. “Actually, I do have some money buried in different spots, but none under the mattress.”

His answers only made me more curious. “Don’t people get suspicious when you walk into a bank with a stack of cash?”

Cameron looked at me like I was from another planet. “I never actually walk into a bank, Emmy. Everything is done electronically. I carry very little cash on me.” From the tone of voice that Cameron had chosen, I could tell that his explanation had been meant to explain everything. But I didn’t understand. Somehow I couldn’t see drug users using their bank cards to buy whatever it was they bought. As Cameron searched my face, he must have found complete confusion. He pulled over to the side of the road and turned to me. He was procrastinating, mostly for his own purpose, I guessed.

“Aren’t we going to be late?” I asked him.

“They won’t start without us,” he said. “You want to know how it works, don’t you?”

I nodded, and I could feel my cheeks getting warm.

“When we get the product,” he started, “it’s divided among all the leaders. They distribute it within their gangs, and it’s subdivided several times like that until it actually hits the streets. When it’s sold, the money is passed by the dealers through small businesses that deposit the money into their bank accounts. Sometimes dealers will also open bank accounts in their friends’ and family’s names and deposit small amounts there too. Where the money goes from there gets really complicated—property, shares, and other stuff gets bought and sold. The money changes hands so many times that, by the time it gets to us, it’s virtually impossible to trace back to the product.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

He looked away. “I’ll be killed before I ever get caught.”

I instantly regretted asking the question.

We pulled back onto the road. Cameron didn’t volunteer anymore information and I definitely didn’t ask any more questions. Blissful ignorance would have been better on that last point.

When we drove into the church parking lot, there were only a handful of cars parked. I asked Cameron whether we were too early or too late. He explained that these events had to be kept intimate so as to not attract too much attention.

The church was small and simple, with a white exterior and broken bricked pathway. It was located off of a country road in the middle of nowhere. Mature trees surrounded the lot and a perfectly manicured cemetery flanked it. It was a beautiful summer day. Somehow, this church, this day was, to me, just right for our last good-byes to Rocco. Before the tears could rise, numbness protectively swelled inside me.

I was surprised to find Cameron grab my hand as we walked up to the handful of people who had gathered outside the door, some of whom, like Tiny, I recognized as the high-ranking guards from the farm. Most of their names escaped me in that moment.

Everyone respectfully acknowledged Cameron right away and side-glanced me with curiosity as we passed them, hand in hand, and entered the church. Once we stepped through the threshold, the guards followed us and my fingers were going numb again from Cameron’s squeeze. I clenched my teeth, trying to keep cool for the both of us.

Inside, blue and white flowers overflowed in the middle aisle and at the front of the church. Among the petals, Rocco’s framed picture was smiling at us from the front. I had to look away. Cameron avoided looking ahead too. There was music playing somewhere in the church.

Between the rows of wooden benches, Carly and Spider slowly walked up to us. Spider somberly shook Cameron’s hand. Carly’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

“Everything looks great, Carly. Thank you for making all the arrangements,” Cameron said softly, affectionately putting his hand on her shoulder, as my brother had often done with me.

Carly smiled weakly back at us, but seemed at a loss for words. She scooped her arm into mine, while Cameron and Spider led us to our seats in the back of the church. We slid onto the bench—Carly and I sat next to each other, and Cameron and Spider protectively sat on our sides. The rest of the back benches were filled with the remaining guards. Silence fell among us, each lost in thought, trying to make sense of something that was senseless.

The church was practically empty, except for the front pew. I recognized the bleached-blond back of one of the women’s heads as Cameron’s mother. She was sobbing loudly while simultaneously yelling at three children who were running back and forth between the benches. It all seemed surreal.

And then Spider suddenly shot up and glared to the lane.

“What’s she doing here?” he muttered bitterly. Carly, Cameron, and I turned our heads and followed his gaze. Frances had made her way down the aisle and awkwardly stood by the bench in front of us. Carly tugged at Spider’s sleeve and forced him to sit back down.

“I invited her,” she half-whispered. And then, in answer to our surprised faces, added, “Rocco really liked Frances. He would have wanted her to be here, with us.”

Frances continued to uneasily glance at us, until Cameron finally motioned her to sit down. She quietly slid into the bench in front of us and stared ahead while Spider huffed and Carly threw him a disapproving eye. I felt horrible for Frances. I remembered what it was like to be the outsider who wanted nothing else but to be accepted by them.

A big man in front walked out on stage at the front of the church. His hair was crew-cut in a bowl, and he looked lost in his robes. He was young, really young—like puberty had forgotten about him. He seemed too young to be a deacon, or a pastor, or a priest, or whatever he was.

The man in the big robes commenced his sermon. Though he spoke English, I had no idea what he was talking about. Chapters, verses, commandments—these were as cryptic to me as Cameron’s business documents. I was sure that the holy water was boiling in a basin somewhere in the church as these thoughts ran through my head.